I had major problems getting our third child here. We got her here safe and sound in the end, to everybody’s profound relief, but the doctor sure didn’t want me to risk that again. My blood pressure had been so low. This was years before my dysautonomia was diagnosed, and he thought it was specific to pregnancy–which it seemed to be, at the time–but, whatever, never again!

But we just strongly felt we were supposed to have one more child. We did what we do: we prayed hard about it. And then we went ahead and did what we felt was right for us personally, and we had our son John. Easiest pregnancy of all my pregnancies, piece of cake, and what we got for it! The nicest kid you could ever ask for. How many teenage boys drive their moms to yarn stores and cheerfully hang out with her friends?

I once upon a time stumbled across Robin and Russ (now defunct) selling baby alpaca at a dollar a ball on closeout; the undyed brown in fingering weight just hadn’t sold well. I bought enough to knit it triple-stranded into big, warm afghans for each one of my children. Some of it, I dyed.

Three years ago, I was knitting up the balls I’d dyed in crimson, and John across the room put down his book, came over, grabbed the bottom of that afghan, and started rubbing it against his cheek, enjoying (ed. note: I wrote “swooning at” and he read that and exclaimed, “MOMMMM!!!! Swooning? SWOONING?? On your BLOG!??” and retyped it as “enjoying”) the softness. That particular afghan instantly became his.

So today’s his birthday, the day he’s officially old enough to have his papers in to go be a Mormon missionary for two years–first, though, he’s having shoulder surgery tomorrow and will need a bit of downtime afterwards. But meantime, today is a day for me to reflect again at my great good fortune that he made it into this world, and how much he blesses our lives every day. He’s a good one. I’ve already knitted that afghan, so I don’t know how to say it any more powerfully than this, but–John. I love you.

Congratulations to Mr. 19! I started praying for him (and his family) as soon as I read this blog entry, and I hope that his surgery goes (is going/has gone) as expected. Will continue to pray for a quick recovery.

Alison!! You are making me cry!Thank you so much, I mean it.I have a “good one” too, he’ll be 17 next month, and thank you for reminding me to be thankful, even though I want to kick his rear end in gear sometimes…you know, when he’s just being a normal teenager?Good luck with the surgery, I’ll be thinking of you (pl.)

Thank you for the good wishes. He’ll be fine, but I’ll relax when this is over. Last time he had surgery, he almost didn’t come out of the anesthesia. Under HIPAA law, I can’t ask them to tell me what drug they used. But you bet I’m going to tell that surgeon in a few minutes.

You can’t ask for information unless he specifically authorizes it. But he can go to the medical records department and get whatever he wants. And he could authorize things to be released to you, too, if he wanted. Sometimes they charge for copies of things, but you have the right to your own records. I think there might be a few exceptions, like psycological counselling notes. But if he has ever had problems, then get the recipe from the anesthesiologist afterwards, along with your own notes if it was a good combination or bad, and why. To keep for the next time, in case there is a next time. *climbing down off my soapbox now* I feel really strongly that people should keep track of their own important records. Could you tell?!

Happy B-day John! You are a wonderful example of when a mother thinks on her own and looks to a much higher power than just listening to a doctor. Alison, this is just one more reason why I find you an extraordinary person.

I had to go think about Sonya’s comment. The doctor was a wonderful one, and his responsibility was to take the best care he knew how of his patient: me. And he did. My husband’s and my responsibility was to take the best care we knew how of our whole family. I speak for no one else’s situation, but for us personally, we felt we were supposed to have one more child. In all the innumerable details of ordinary, everyday day-to-day life since then, it has changed everything for the better that we did.

We moved across the country between children #3 and 4. I wrote a letter back to that doctor, about four months after John arrived safe and sound, thanking him for his care–and for his caring. Letting him know that it had all worked out to the good. He was very touched, and very glad to know.

I have been involved with a breastfeeding support group for over 7 years. I can’t count how many times I have heard a mother say, well the dr. said this and the dr. said that. Many a mother and baby stopped breastfeeding because they did not look for more information or guidance. Sorry, did not mean to get on a soapbox.Alison, you are right he was taking care of YOU and was concerned for your health

Ouch–I can’t imagine a doctor telling a mom not to nurse her baby (although, actually, I did have one day once where I was told not to for 24 hours while the anesthesia from surgery on my eye wore off). But I didn’t take what you wrote as a negative, I took it as a chance to reminisce over how much that OB back in the day had cared about his patients.

At the same time, I have learned that doctors are as human and as capable of being wrong as the rest of us, and when we’re in the role of patient we need to do our research. Which is so much easier now in the days of googling.